A Drink Called Loneliness
by Five Until Class
Summary: Romano never thought he could put up with Germany. Germany never thought he could put up with Romano. Yet loneliness was a powerful force... Germany/Romano and Spain/Veneziano
1. Prologue

AN: I am a Spamano shipper, but I'm waiting for an original idea before I write a Spamano fic. I still had the desire to write a story though…so crack pairings! Yay! Enjoy the Germany/Romano and Spain/Veneziano.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

Prologue

The strong scents of fried potatoes and sizzling sausages woke Romano from his sleep. The Italian man rolled—careful not to fall off the side of the couch—and squinted up at the clock on the wall.

7:06. "Damn," muttered Romano as he sat up and popped his back, "slept in again." He stood and shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring the way the cold tile bit at his bare feet. The tall man standing at the stove did not turn around as Romano grabbed the plates out of the cupboard and brought them over.

"You slept in."

"Shut up, potato bastard," snapped Romano, but he was too tired to put much malice behind it. Instead of replying the German filled three plates with the food then covered one in foil and placed it in the fridge. Romano grabbed one of the remaining plates and took it to the table after pouring himself a large glass of orange juice. Germany followed him with a coffee mug.

Breakfast passed in silence besides the clink of silverware. Romano ate as quickly as possible and drowned the taste of German food with the orange juice. He stood and took his plate to the sink, then turned to leave.

"You didn't do the dishes," Germany said as he took a gulp of coffee. Romano turned and glared at him.

"I did them yesterday! You do the damn dishes!"

"I cooked breakfast."

"So? Your food sucks!"

"You still ate it. Do the dishes." Germany and Romano started each other down, the first annoyed and the other fuming. Romano eventually gave a shout of annoyance and stomped back to the sink. Germany merely picked up a newspaper and began reading. He ignored the way the Italian snatched away his plate and silverware. He also ignored the muttered curses and glares sent his way.

As the angry man finished doing the dishes Germany carefully folded up the newspaper and placed it on the table. He cleared his throat and said, "Leave them on the rack. I'll put them away."

"Why? Afraid I'll break all your precious dishes again?"

"Yes," replied Germany simply as he placed his empty coffee cup by the sink. Romano groaned in annoyance but grabbed the mug and cleaned it too. The taller man leaned back against the counter beside him. He finally asked, "Are you going to take that suitcase to him today?"

Romano froze but only for a moment. "No," he snapped with another glare at the blond.

"You have put it off for three days."

"I'll get to it! I'm busy!"

"Busy occupying my couch?"

Romano pouted and Germany's mouth twitched up into a smirk, but the faces of both men fell. Nearly a full minute passed in silence between the two as they stared off into space. An annoyed grunt broke the uneasy quiet before Romano cleaned his hands and dried them. "I don't…" he muttered as he tossed the hand towel onto the table. It missed and flopped on the floor. The Italian stared down at it blankly. "I don't want to…interrupt their happiness." An edge of bitterness laced his words.

Germany did not reply. He did not have to. He understood.


	2. Chapter 1: One Week

AN: What better way to lighten the mood than to introduce (most of) the BTT?

Warning: Prussian drunkenness and angry curses from…well, almost everyone. Sorry about some OOCness, but emotions are running high with these characters.

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Chapter 1—One Week

"What? No, I can do it myself! Put that back and let the awesome me get it!"

France chuckled and took a sip of his wine. He was feeling a little buzzed already and, if his words were anything to go off of, so was Prussia. The albino had jumped out of his seat and was reaching across the bar trying to reach another bottle of his favorite beer, ignoring the bartender trying to stop him.

With a deep and satisfied sigh Prussia sat back in his seat and took a long drink of his beer. "Ah, perfect. I love this stuff."

"Really? I couldn't tell," chuckled the Frenchman as he sipped a bit more wine. He turned more on his stool so he faced Prussia head-on. "How many have you had now?"

"Uh…" Prussia looked up at the ceiling, his face screwing up in concentration. He finally shrugged and laughed. "Enough to make me feel more awesome than usual! Can you tell now?" France nodded with a smirk. A wave brought the bartender over and the handsome man refilled the nation's glass with red wine. France's eyes drifted over the man's body before he looked back at Prussia. "….stock more beer. West saves too much money! If I had all that income you can bet…" The self-proclaimed awesome one was still talking without realizing that France had tuned him out. The blond nodded along absentmindedly whenever Prussia looked at him. A drunken Prussia was easy to appease and France was rather skilled in that field.

The rest of the night passed in a pleasant haze of alcohol and entertaining company. Around two AM the pair stumbled out of the bar and shouted goodbyes and promises to meet again for drinks before heading their separate ways.

"Damn, I feel great," said Prussia with a grin as he walked (stumbling every once in a while) home. His cab had dropped him off a few blocks away and the ex-nation was surprisingly not angry. He might even have been skipping along if he wasn't so sure his face would marry the cement if he did.

The jingle of keys made Prussia blink and look down. Huh. When had he reached West's house? When had he taken his keys out? The man shrugged and walked through the unlocked door. Maybe he had a bit too much to drink earlier. Oh well. Nobody died so West couldn't give him shit about it in the morning.

Prussia cackled happily at the thought of West's exasperated face as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He flipped to one of those silly Japanese game shows and dropped onto the end of the couch. A sudden pain in his rear made the man stop and think. "Huh. When did West's couch get so bumpy?" The couch started moving. "Mein Gott, West! What did you do to the couch? Your couch is a person!"

"I'm not a couch, you stupid potato bastard! Get the fuck off my legs!"

Prussia stared at the screeching mass of blankets and brown hair blankly. He suddenly grinned and patted the mass on the head. "Oh, heya Romano. When did you become a couch?"

Romano glared death from exhausted eyes. "Get. Off. My. Legs."

"What? I'm not on your legs. You're a couch."

The Italian man stared at the laughing Prussian for a moment. He leaned over and grabbed a large book sitting on the coffee table. Romano raised the book and brought it down on top of Prussia's head.

* * *

Germany sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. The two cups of coffee he had with breakfast were starting to wear off. If only he hadn't been awakened by two idiots running through his house and breaking everything in sight…at three in the morning… One of those idiots was currently standing in front of his desk. The German man sighed again and took off his glasses. "What is it now, Prussia?" he asked.

Prussia crossed his arms and glared down at his brother. His fingers twitched in irritation as he half-shouted, "It's Romano, obviously! Kick him out!"

"No." Germany put his glasses back in place and reached for the government papers on the corner of his desk. He had too much unfinished work to deal with his brother's problems.

Prussia's glared hardened and he snatched the papers away. "Kick him out now! I'm sick of that kid taking up the damn couch! This isn't his house!" Germany returned the glare and folded up his glasses before placing them in his desk drawer.

"It's not your house either, bruder. Give me the papers now," Germany said, straining to stay calm, "We already discussed South Italy."

"'Discussed'? We didn't 'discuss' anything! You just rolled over and let that brat do whatever the hell he wanted! Man up already, West!"

The blond man growled in frustration and stood. He glared down at his brother who returned the look. With quiet rage the sleep deprived German said, "I don't care if Romano beat your drunken ass. I'm too exhausted from dealing with you two already. Deal with it. Now give me the papers, Preußen."

Prussia continued glaring at his brother. A moment of tense silence passed as his glare hardened. The albino man finally shouted and threw the papers at him opponent. "Fine! Be that brat's bitch!" shouted Prussia as he turned and stalked out of the room, "He's not Italy, you idiot!"

Germany narrowed his eyes and watched his brother leave the office. A bit later he heard the front door slam. The German man sighed and visibly deflated. He looked down at the papers scattered across the floor.

Why had everything gone wrong? Why had everyone left?

* * *

Down in the living room, Romano stared at the television set. The colorful cartoons dancing about the screen didn't absorb his attention. The shouting from upstairs was too distracting. He vaguely wondered if the shouting was about him. It probably was, since Romano had almost given that bastard Prussia a concussion. Oh, and he broke more of Germany's plates. They were probably disagreeing about how to get rid of the Italian. Romano pouted and crossed his arms...

...he almost expected someone to shout happily and hug him. Almost.

Instead Prussia rushed down the stairs and wrestled with the front door. Romano watched him with a bored expression. When the door finally opened Prussia's eyes locked onto the blue suitcase propped up against the wall beside him. He turned and glared at the man sitting on the couch. "I hope that damn couch eats you," he hissed out. He kicked the suitcase over and ran out, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Romano's eyes slowly fell from the door to the blue suitcase propped up beside it. He didn't bother to pick it up. He would get to it eventually. "Stupid Feli doesn't need it right now," the Italian muttered softly as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

The happy cartoon program played on, oblivious to his silent tears.

* * *

AN: Anyone else think it would be hot to see Germany wearing reading glasses? And I'm not making Prussia a bad guy, he's just kind of fed up with Romano, like most people would be.


	3. Chapter 2: One Week and One Day

AN: I know European countries use military time. I'm just accustomed to using AM/PM and it seems wrong if I leave it off...

Forgot this before: I don't own Hetalia.

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Chapter 2-One Week and One Day

The shrill alarm clock woke Germany at precisely 5:30 AM. He turned off the alarm and stared blankly up at the ceiling. As sleep drifted away it left a cold awareness behind. Something didn't feel right. Everything seemed far too cold. The man sat up and looked at the other side of his bed.

There were only empty sheets and a perfectly fluffed pillow. Not even a hint of an indent was on the bed. It had been a while since someone had snuck into his room in the middle of the night, a while since he had woken with someone else in his bed. It had been almost a month. Ever since that one morning when he opened his eyes to find Italy already awake, smiling widely, so excited to tell Germany about something 'wonderful'...

The German man narrowed his eyes in annoyance and forced himself to look away. There had never been anything to look at anyway. Germany sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. He needed to stop waking up like this.

He left the room and walked down a flight of stairs. Faint snoring greeted him. A small bit of hope filled him as he entered the living room.

The snoring came from the couch, specifically from a mound of dark blankets with the barest hint of brunette hair sticking out of one end. Germany cursed himself in his mind. Of course, it was only Romano. He would be lucky if Prussia returned within two weeks with the way they had been yelling at each other. He would be lucky if Italy visited within two months, with how happy he currently was elsewhere.

Germany turned quickly and left the living room. He went down another flight of stairs and (ignoring the door to his absent brother's room) walked into the weight room. "Nothing like it to take one's mind off things," the blond muttered to himself as he walked over to the treadmill. Germany started warming up, focusing on breathing and counting and not thinking, then stepped onto the treadmill.

By the time Germany had run a mile his mind began to wander away from the exercise and to the disasters of the previous day. Wasn't his anger at Prussia completely justified? Romano may have been the one destroying things, but it was the ex-nation that had caused the chaos and whose screaming woke Germany at three in the morning. It was all because Prussia couldn't stop himself from getting wasted at least once a week. Hadn't he been warned-_multiple times_-to stop binge drinking with his friends? Germany would have to talk with France and Spain about...no, he would just talk to France. That would be enough. There was no need to speak to the other man.

Germany frowned and stepped off the treadmill. Exercise was supposed to keep his mind off...that. The nation moved over to the bench press and started lifting, counting his reps out loud. Two minutes later he stopped, put the barbell down, and stared at the white ceiling.

What was wrong with him? Normally exercise would be a good enough distraction. Perhaps he had to try something else. Paperwork? No, that hadn't worked well enough the past few weeks. It hadn't kept _those two_ out of his head.

The German groaned and stood. He added more weights to the barbell. More exercise would make him forget. He just wasn't trying hard enough yet.

There had to be a way to forget.

* * *

Romano's alarm clock started ringing at 6:30. The clock soon found itself against the far wall but it did not stop ringing. Romano growled and pulled the blankets closer around his head, trying to block out the sound. Why the hell had he set that damn thing so early? He was exhausted. Did it matter if he couldn't have a decent Italian breakfast for one more day? Romano could just sleep through it anyway. He didn't feel like eating disgusting German food. He could starve for one day, especially if it meant more sleep. He couldn't even think clearly anyway. If only that damn alarm clock stopped ringing and let him sleep!

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiing.

The Italian slowly freed himself from the blankets and stalked over to the alarm clock slowly. He glared down at the infuriating device. "Damn worthless piece of crap," Romano muttered dangerously as he picked it up. He hit the button on the top and spent the next minute glaring at it.

Romano's legs suddenly wavered and brought him back to the world of the living. If he was falling asleep on his feet while glaring at an alarm clock then he definitely needed to go back to bed. He would find a way to murder the clock later.

Romano headed back to the couch, then suddenly stopped in the middle of the room. He blinked slowly and sniffed the air. It smelled of...nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Excitement bubbled up inside the Italian. "Finally!" he mentally cheered as he tossed the alarm clock towards the couch and ran into the kitchen. He wouldn't have to eat that nasty German food! The potato bastard probably wasn't even awake yet! Romano had finally beaten him! A triumphant grin spread across the Italian's face as he went through the cupboards and grabbed bowls and flour. He was going to make the best pizza ever.

...Maybe Romano would make extra. Just to prove to that stupid German that his pizza was better than the nasty German crap he made every morning. It wasn't like he was worried the steroid jerk was going to kick him out of the house...it wasn't a bribe...

Romano would just have to be careful and not break any more plates. He wouldn't even have to touch them if he made breakfast anyway. The potato bastard would have to do the dishes instead! Romano's grin widened as he filled a plastic bowl with warm water and grabbed a packet of yeast.

* * *

Wonderful smells filled Germany's kitchen for the first time in Romano's stay. A good, old-fashioned tomato and basil pizza was almost finished cooking in the oven. A giddy happiness filled the Italian as he sat in front of the oven watching the crust heat and the mozzarella melt. He had beaten Germany to the kitchen. He had _won_. Romano had made breakfast before the potato bastard even woke up.

"Take that, potato bastard," said Romano smugly.

"Take what?"

Romano spun around so fast his neck stung. There, framed in the doorway to the basement, was the German. Despite it being so early the man looked exhausted. He reached up to push his ungelled hair back from his sweaty forehead. Romano wrinkled his nose and turned away back to the oven, "I beat you to the kitchen."

Germany sighed and wiped the back of his neck with a towel. "Did you make enough for two?"

"Maybe. Maybe I wanted two servings."

The blond man shook his head and walked out of the room. He started walking up the stairs and said over his shoulder, "Just don't break anything before I get out of the shower." Italian curses followed him as he walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

A loud beeping erupted from the oven as soon as the water turned on upstairs. Romano took the pizza out and turned off the oven. His lips were stuck in a frown, his previous giddiness forgotten. How dare that potato bastard not be grateful that Romano had made breakfast? Maybe he should eat it all just to spite the asshole! Then he'd have to make his own food...ew. Romano shuddered. He was not going to let any nasty German food replace the smells his amazing pizza had made. If that meant sharing his pizza with Germany then so be it.

Romano carefully cut the pizza and grabbed two plates. He put two pieces on each plate and carried them to the table slowly. Two glasses of grape juice were placed beside the plates. Romano frowned and glared down at the juice. It had probably been bought by his brother on a shopping trip he had forgotten his ID for, but there was nothing else to go with the pizza. The Italian made a mental note to buy some really expensive wine soon. Maybe he could find some money in the potato bastard's office...

"What are you scheming?" Romano spun around (his neck was going to snap if he did that anymore) and smirked at the freshly showered German. The annoying blond was already in a dress shirt and pants with his hair slicked back again.

"I am not scheming," Romano said as his smirk turned into a scowl, "Get over here and eat, potato bastard. I didn't make a spectacular pizza just for it to be wasted."

Germany sighed and sat across from the irate Italian. He looked down on the glass of juice. "I assume you didn't make coffee then?"

"Hell no. You aren't ruining my pizza like that."

The German rolled his eyes and began eating. It actually wasn't bad, despite what he had heard about Romano and his uselessness about the house. Germany still made a mental note to get up before Romano the next day so he could make breakfast instead. Pizza and grape juice was not his idea of a filling way to start the day. He needed his coffee and potatoes.

Germany finished eating and took his dishes to the sink. Beside it was a mess of flour and leftover bits of dough. The man sighed and grabbed a paper towel. There was no use in waiting around for the Italian to clean it.

He finished cleaning the mess just as Romano brought his dishes up. The German quickly moved to clean the plates while Romano stood behind him and watched. And watched. And watched. Germany rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder, a rude question on the tip of his tongue.

The look on Romano's face wasn't sad or happy. It was odd, almost childlike, a mixture of annoyance and hopeful. Germany sighed inwardly. Romano was almost as childish as his brother, looking for assurance. "The pizza was good," Germany finally said.

Romano looked visibly relieved, then realized what he was doing and scowled. He crossed his arms and looked to the side as he said, "I don't care what you thought about the pizza! Bastard." The Italian stomped out of the kitchen and into the living room. He turned on the tv and raised the volume. Germany chuckled but the sound was masked completely.

* * *

AN: I since this is finals week I won't have much time to write. Also, I don't have a working computer at home, so the next update might be really delayed...sorry to anyone reading this!


	4. Chapter 3: Two Weeks

AN: I was watching Hetalia AMVs on Youtube to try and get inspiration for this chapter. I found a Prussia tribute video to Avril Lavigne's "Slipped Away". I never thought I'd listen to her music again…but I found that song very fitting for this story. If you haven't heard it I recommend you look it up.

Finally got to finish this chapter! I could only write a little each day...I miss school and school computers...

* * *

Chapter 3—Two Weeks

The last week had passed in relative peace. Well, it was as peaceful as it could be in a house holding an irritating, abrasive, attention-seeking Italian and a stiff, workaholic German.

At 11 AM, the door to Germany's large office smashed open. "Where are your pens, potato bastard?" demanded Romano. He was glaring with dark circles heavy under his eyes. His blue pajamas were a wrinkled mess (Germany was just thankful this Italy wore pajamas in the first place, although Germany was certain he had seen those pajamas on a certain missing albino before...) and from his left hand hung a hefty stack of equally wrinkled papers. "Answer me!"

"Well, the quiet was nice while it lasted," Germany thought as he opened a drawer and pulled out a black pen. Romano snatched it out of his hand and grabbed a chair. The Italian dragged it up to the front of Germany's desk and plopped down heavily as he dropped the stack of papers on top of the desk. Germany stared as Romano took the first paper and started to read it. The blond's eyebrows shot up as the man signed the paper and grabbed another one. "Are you…actually doing work?" asked Germany, not believing what he was seeing.

"Of course I'm doing work!" Romano snapped. He angrily signed the next paper. "Don't judge me, bastard!"

Germany stared a bit longer, amazed, then shook his head and looked back down at his own paperwork. Who knew Romano could actually focus on work? Then again, if Romano didn't do it, then all the nation's work would fall to North Italy…God knows what sort of disaster would befall them all if that happened.

A crumpled up paper hit the wall to Germany's left and fell to the floor, narrowly missing the empty trashcan. Germany's eyebrows furrowed. "You cannot just toss out your paperwork."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want! If I don't want to sign it then I don't have to!" Germany sighed. Of course Romano wasn't really doing all the work.

Out of curiosity the nation asked, "Why didn't you sign it?"

"Because it was written by that bastard France. I am not giving that pervert the satisfaction of signing it."

"…I see. I probably wouldn't sign it either," admitted Germany, holding in a chuckle. He could just imagine what sort of agreements the Frenchman would try to slip into the normally inattentive nation's papers. "But it would be better to shred the paper instead of tossing it out."

"No. I'm going to find all of them, put them in a bag with dog poop, and light it in the middle of France's rose garden," said Romano smugly. Germany held in a sigh. He had been impressed that Romano was acting mature for once. Of course that had been short lived.

"Just don't make a mess if you want to throw out more papers."

"I'll do what I want, bastardo patate!"

Germany shook his head and returned to his own paperwork. Romano sent an occasional paper ball to the trash can-his aim was atrocious-and would grumble curses under his breath in Italian.

* * *

Romano straightened up his stack of papers and smirked. He had finished all the paperwork his boss had sent up. That meant the jerk had no reason to call him anymore, especially early on a weekend. Everyone knew Romano slept in on weekends! The Italian snarled under his breath and looked up. At least he could gloat about finishing first.

Germany's seat was empty.

Romano frowned and slouched in the chair. He hadn't won after all. When did the potato bastard leave? Damn sneaky German... The doorbell rang and broke Romano's train of thought. He heard the door open and some mumbled talking. That was where the bastard had gone. Who the hell was he talking to? The other potato bastard? Romano doubted that jerk would come back so soon after having his overinflated ego bruised.

Footsteps echoed off of the stairs just before Germany walked back in. He carried two take out boxes and another giant stack of papers. "What's in the boxes?" Romano asked, then caught himself and added, "Bastard." Germany sighed and rolled his eyes, then places the papers and one of the boxes in front of Romano.

"One of your people brought those." Romano groaned and flipped through the papers. Economics. Great. At least the box of food smelled good.

"I thought I beat you," the Italian said with a slight pout.

Germany chuckled and put down his own take-out box . He sat down and pulled a stack of papers even larger than Romano's out from under his desk. "You might still have a chance."

Romano perked up and grabbed a pen. Germany copied him and the pair returned to work, Romano writing furiously and Germany being calm as usual. Their food was forgotten in the rush to be finished first.

* * *

An hour later Romano's burst of energy died. He growled and slammed his pen down on the table. Stupid economics. Stupid economy. Stupid confusing market net export import inflation shit.

"Give up?" asked Germany. The blond man sat at his desk, calm as before, slowly working his way through his paperwork. A pile of completed forms was beside him. Romano glared at it. Why the hell couldn't his paperwork be that easy?

"...maybe." Wait, did he just admit that out loud? The German bastard chuckled, so he must have. Romano's eyebrow twitched in irritation. He grabbed up his remaining papers and threw them at Germany. "Fine!" he shouted angrily, "If you're so good at it, then you finish them!"

The papers slowly drifted down onto the desk and floor. Germany sighed and pulled the paper he was last working on out of the scattered mess. "Pick them up," he said as calmly as he could.

"No, bastard."

"Pick your papers up now."

"I said no!"

"Then leave," Germany spat out, finally returning Romano's glare.

"Fine!" shouted Romano as he stood, throwing his chair down to the floor.

"Fine!"

"FINE!" Romano scowled and fled the room.

Germany glared after the nation. His eyes fell down to the mess of papers littering what was once his pristinely clean wooden floor and desk. The man sighed and pushed his chair back. He grabbed his take-out box and quickly walked to his room as he thought, "Why the hell haven't I kicked that child out of my house yet?" Germany shook his head and entered his room.

The take-out box was dropped on the bedside table and Germany began to eat. Why hadn't he kicked out South Italy yet? All that child did was make messes and complain about _everything_. Germany didn't even take that attitude from his brother...who had left. Because of Romano. Germany sighed and set his fork down. His anger dissipated and was replaced with confusion. "Why?" he asked himself again. He had no answer.

* * *

Romano stomped off to the front door and grabbed the blue suitcase. It was still lying on its side from when Prussia had kicked it one week ago. Romano dragged the suitcase up the stairs, making sure to hit each step as loudly and violently as possible with the wheels, and entered his brother's old room. The man's nose wrinkled in disgust as he surveyed the nearly empty room. How often did his brother even use it? He always snuck into the potato bastard's room. Romano shivered and walked to the closet.

Several button-up dress shirts, most of them dark blue and white, hung up on one side of the closet while three pairs of dress pants hung on the other. Romano tore the clothes off their hangers and stuffed them into the suitcase on top of the uncleaned t-shirts and jeans (Romano had to wear something in those past two weeks. He was lucky his brother's clothes fit so well). He zipped up the suitcase, grabbed the red, white, and green blanket off the bed, and was back down the stairs and out the front door in record time.

Romano's seatbelt had just clicked into place when his cell phone rang. The Italian stared at the device singing away in the passenger seat, oblivious of the radiating hatred. It would be so easy to just open the door and chuck it against the German's house. He picked it up, decided which window he was going to smash to bit with his hefty Nokia projectile-why else would he have the giant thing?-and then changed his mind and answered the call.

"Who is it?" Romano asked morosely. He slumped back against the black leather seat and picked at the steering wheel.

A chipper voice responded, "It's me, fratello! I haven't called in a while, did you forget my number? Oh! I'm sorry, I should have called more, but Spain and I were having so much fun visiting-"

"Don't care."

"Wah, you're mean," North Italy replied. Romano's lip twitched up. He could practically see his brother's pout on the other line. He could also see Spain wrapping his arms around Veneziano, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder with a giant smile, asking who he was talking to...

Romano's frown returned. His chest hurt. "I don't care if I'm mean."

"Ve~ it's okay! I know fratello never means it."

"I do mean it, you idiot! I don't care what you two are doing!"

"Are you feeling left out?" Yes, but not the way Veneziano was thinking. "We were talking about visiting soon. That's why I called! Wouldn't it be fun? Our plane got back yesterday so we already slept it off and we can hang out today without falling asleep and we can all have some wine and eat pasta and then go for a walk along the-"

"No."

"Ah, don't be like that! It's been forever since I've seen mio fratello! I know Spain wants to see you too." Romano sighed and sunk deeper into the leather seat.

"I'm busy. Paperwork and shit. I don't have time to hang out," said Romano, only slightly lying.

"Oh? Were you covering my work? I'm sorry, I'll come help!"

"No. It's almost done, I just need to sleep it off now. Stay there."

"B-but I wanted to see you! It's been so long!"

"You will eventually. Just not when I'm so exhausted." Romano could hear Feliciano sigh and pull away from the phone. He could a few intelligible mumbles of conversation and a whine. Romano flinched. His brother had probably told Spain.

Veneziano started to speak into the phone again. "What about tomorrow? Please, fratello?"

Romano sighed. "Fine," he said, "But I'm at the potato bastard's house." He hung up before his brother could respond. With another sigh Romano exited the car, grabbed the suitcase, and dragged it back up to Germany's front door. He walked inside and flopped back down on the couch. The tv was turned on and Romano zoned as he watched a soap opera.

Footsteps down the stairs and into the hall heralded Germany's arrival. The man stared at Romano for a minute before asking, "What are you still doing here?"

Romano snorted and looked away from the television. "I'm staying until tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Because Italy and Spain are coming here tomorrow." Germany froze. His eyebrows knitted together in concern. Romano shrugged and said, "They were going to visit both of us anyway. At least this way I can use you to distract them." _And so I can distract myself by yelling at you when they get all lovey-dovey-bullshit_.

"I...I understand," said Germany softly. He sat beside Romano on the couch and folded his arms. Thoughts of Italy's excited face rose up in his mind...then he saw that expression facing someone else. Oh yes, he understood perfectly. "Better to suffer with company, I suppose."

"...something like that," Romano muttered as he sunk deeper into the couch, eyes trained on the tv. Then he caught himself and added, "Bastard."

* * *

AN: My chapters keep getting longer! Makes me proud to see it. I'm sorry to anyone who may have checked for this update. Classes are out for the summer and I only have access to the family computer, which is in high demand. No promises on when the next update will be but I hope it will not be long.


	5. Chapter 4: Two Weeks and One Day

AN: I will have no written accents in this story. I tried, but it just seemed too racist.

I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 4: Two Weeks and One Day

For the past two weeks Romano had woken to find himself on Germany's couch. This day was no exception. South Italy groaned and sat up, holding his lower back. Why the hell didn't he just leave and go sleep on his own comfy bed, back home where there were no disgusting potato bastards and potato breakfasts with their stupid potato stench...?

Oh. Right. Feliciano and Spain were probably there. Instead of wanting to crash at his house Romano felt the sudden desire to burn it to the ground. Speaking of burning, the scent of fried potatoes hung heavy in the air. That could only mean that Germany had beaten him to making breakfast again. Romano groaned and flopped back onto the couch. He pulled the blanket up over his head and willed himself to go back to sleep.

Quiet footsteps heralded someone's entrance to the room. Romano narrowed his eyes. Those were far too soft to be Germany's footsteps, or even Prussia's. A soft voice confirmed it when Romano heard, "Pardon me. South Italy-san?"

It was Japan. Romano quieted a sigh and pulled the blanket down. He looked over the Asian nation who stood in the center of the living room, dressed in a pristine pressed blue dress shirt and dark pants. "Whaddya want?" asked Romano tiredly.

"Germany-san has finished preparing breakfast," Japan responded. He stood there looking at Romano expectantly. The Italian rolled his eyes and sat up. He muffled a yawn. His arm flopped back to the couch and he glared up at Japan tiredly.

"I'll get there when I get there," muttered Romano, "So don't wake me up, ass." The Asian nodded and left, completely ignoring the insult. Romano's eyebrows furrowed together. Why hadn't Japan gotten offended or angry? Was Romano losing his touch? Was everyone getting used to his curses? Insensitive bastards, all of them.

Romano remained on the couch staring at the far wall. His mind drifted in and out of focus, telling him to go feed his aching stomach one moment before filling with dread and ordering him to return to sleep. But why? Something awful...someone coming to visit...but he never minded whenever Japan came over to see Feli-

"Oh shit." Romano jumped up and dashed into the kitchen. His sudden appearance made Japan jump and hold his chest. "I'm not here!" the Italian screamed at the startled man, as he ran to the basement door, "Tell them I'm at the hospital! Or I went to a meeti-No, say I'm taking a vacation somewhere in Africa!" Romano barely finished screaming before he dashed down into the darkness of the basement.

"S-south Ita...Romano-kun? What is wrong?" Japan asked. There was no response and the Asian nation looked at Germany for an explanation.

Germany looked completely unperturbed. He casually leaned back against the counter and sipped his black coffee. The man shrugged and said, "He does this often. Hunger or fear of the dark will drive him up eventually." Japan gave Germany a calculating look before sighing and returning to his seat.

"You have spent too long with the Italy brothers," Japan stated.

Germany shrugged and drank more coffee. "Perhaps you are right."

Japan hid a sad, knowing smile behind his own cup of tea. Poor Germany had not denied it. "What about Italy-kun's visit today? Will you be alright?" The German nation's eyes fell down to his drink. After a quiet moment of contemplation he nodded. Japan nodded back and returned to his breakfast of fried potatoes and fruit.

* * *

The doorbell rang.

Silence followed. Japan looked over at his host and stared in surprise. The German was hunched over, face contorted in concentration as he stared down into his coffee. Only the stiffness in his shoulders gave away his unease. A small and sympathetic smile spread over Japan's face as he stood. He placed a firm hand on Germany's broad shoulder and said, "I will show them to the living room. Join us when you are ready."

"I...I appreciate that, Japan." The Asian nation nodded and went to the front door.

The doorbell rang two more times. "Anyone home?" shouted a cheerful voice, "Germany? Fratello? Helloooooo!"

Japan opened the door and gave a small smile. "Italy-kun, Spain-san. It is good to see you," he said as he stepped to the side, "Please come in, Germany-san will join us in the living room shortly."

"Japan!" shouted North Italy as he sprang forward and pulled the other nation into a hug, "I didn't know you'd be here! Ah, it'll be a party with six of us then!"

"Six...?"

Japan willed himself to relax in Italy's grip and looked over to the speaker. Spain stood on the doorstep smiling obliviously as usual. He wore a red jacket that suited his tanned skin-the couple had been spending a lot of time on the beaches, Japan had heard from a certain excitable Western country-and his hair was a mess as usual. North Italy himself did not look any different except for his matching red jacket. But it seems as if Spain had not expected an answer as he quickly commented on how nice Japan's clothes were. The Asian nation spoke his appreciation and led them inside.

As Japan brought the happy pair to the living room they recounted tales of their vacations together, occasionally meeting up with other countries to hang out or have a party. "Sounds like you two have had a very busy few weeks," commented Japan as he surveyed the room, noticing that all of Romano's things had been moved and the whole room had been tidied up. He inwardly applauded Germany's inhuman cleaning ability. "Please, sit down and relax."

North Italy and Spain sat down right next to each other and quickly held hands. "Where are fratello and Germany?" asked Italy, then quickly said, "Not that we don't like your company, Japan! I just haven't seen them in a while..." He looked down and Spain gave his hand a small squeeze.

"I'm sure they'll join us shortly. I want to see them too," said Spain with a gentle smile. Italy looked up and returned it.

Japan watched them talk quietly. He had never thought that Italy would find happiness in Spain, yet they were perfectly happy with each other. Japan, along with a few of his more...outgoing accomplices had always assumed that Italy and Germany would be the perfect couple. Then eventually Romano would fall to the attentions of Spain at the insistence of his brother. It had all seemed so certain! How had it changed? Perhaps Romano's insecurities had been right, perhaps Spain had been after his brother all along...which would make Romano and Germany rather undeserving victims. Japan suddenly hoped that Spain would just leave.

"I erm...I have brought some breakfast." Germany walked in and set a tray down on the coffee table.

"Germany!" shouted Italy happily as he sprang up and pulled the blond nation into a hug. A pained expression passed over the man's face. He slowly patted the other's back, hoping he would let go, yet felt his heart twist as Italy tightened his hold.

"Ja, it is me," Germany replied as he finally pulled back. It shouldn't have been so hard, he used to do it all the time. But things had changed so much since those days. "Surely you two are hungry after the drive up here?"

"I am!" said Italy as he took his seat beside Spain again. He grabbed a slice of apple off the tray and munched on it happily. "But where's fratello? I haven't seen him in weeks!"

"Yes, where is Lovino?" asked Spain, suddenly looking concerned.

"So he still refers to him using a personal name..." muttered Japan.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. Do not mind me. I'm just going to go make some tea. Do either of you want some?"

"I do!" Italy said, "But you don't need to make any for Antonio, he doesn't drink tea." Spain nodded and picked up a cookie. With a nod in return Japan stood and walked to the kitchen.

Germany was left alone with Spain and North Italy. "So, Doitsu..." started Italy, looking curious, "Where is mio fratello? He was supposed to be here right?"

"He is here," Germany replied quickly. Romano was supposed to be there to make things less awkward, but he had run away. Typical Italian. "He...he is not feeling well, so he is in the basement. The sun was giving him a headache."

"What? He's sick? Poor Lovino!" Spain stood up. "We have to go make sure he's alright!" Italy voiced his approval and stood as well.

Germany sprang up and stood in the pair's way. "That's not a good idea," he said, thinking quickly. "Romano has been feeling ill for a while and the doctor said he...he said that Romano should not have too many visitors. It wears him out." A horrified expression formed on Italy's face.

"M-my own brother, sick this whole time...all while I was off having fun! I should have been here to help him!" cried Italy as he held his face. Spain gently pulled him into a hug, whispering to him softly and stroking his hair to make him relax.

Germany looked away. He cleared his throat and said, "I will check and see if Romano is up to having visitors."

Spain swiftly turned his head and pinned Germany in place with a piercing stare. "How long has Lovino been ill?" The look sent an involuntary shiver up Germany's spine. But it was _Spain_...he wouldn't do anything. Yet the feeling of being scrutinized and judged did not leave. It left a cold feeling in the air between the two nations. North Italy did not notice the look as he clutched at the front of Spain's red jacket, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"He has not been sick long," Germany finally answered. There was no reason for him to feel uneasy in his own home, regardless of what Spain was thinking or how he held Italy so close or how Italy looked close to crying-no. Germany had to remain focused and keep up appearances. He could not afford to be so affected by the Italian and his new...friend. "He has only been here for two weeks. The doctor said that cooler weather and reducing his work load would help him recover." _ Please God don't let Romano come upstairs and be loud and annoying and healthy and let them know that it is all a lie._

As long as Germany was making ridiculous requests he might as well ask why he had not kicked out Romano. He would also like to know why he had allowed himself to be put in this awkward and painful situation with Spain and North Italy. How he wished none of this had ever happened in the first place...

"Then why would Lovino come here?" asked Spain, jerking Germany away from his silent prayers and confusion. His face held a gentle smile but the suspicion was obvious in his eyes. "We all know he has something against you. So why didn't he go stay with Japan? Or his other friend...the one...off to the west..."

"Am I correct in thinking you are referring to Canada-kun?" interrupted Japan. He brought over a cup of cooled green tea and held it out to Italy. The young man gave a small smile as he wiped unshed tears from his eyes and accepted the cup. "He offered to help-as a good friend of Romano-kun, he was concerned about him not feeling well-but we all decided it was wiser for him to remain here in Europe. Germany-san kindly offered to house him and we all agreed it would be best. All four of us decided to not tell you at the time because it would have spoiled your vacation."

The suspicion slowly left Spain's gaze as his smile grew. He said, "That's good. Canada was always a good friend for Lovi, he would make sure that he is taken care of. But I would still like to see him myself and make sure." Italy nodded as he quietly sipped his tea, no longer on the verge of crying.

Japan gave a small smile. "I will go check on him and see if he wants to come up and joining us. He's been feeling better so it should not take long," he said softly as he walked back into the kitchen.

The man's smile disappeared the moment he looked away. His brow furrowed in concern as he walked down the stairs into the dark basement. Something wasn't quite right. He could feel it. Why was Spain so suspicious? Surely his old concern for Lovino had been mostly replaced by his new relationship with Italy. If he acted that way around Lovino then he would only hurt the nation further. And the way he questioned Germany, but accepted Japan's word...he would have to call Canada soon, so he knew the situation in case Spain ever thought to check up on their story. Canada might be able to relieve Spain's possible suspicions about Germany better than Japan could. After all, Canada did not have the old bond of allied nations to sway his judgement.

Even so, why should it matter to Spain if Germany was housing Romano? They were both free, unlike Spain and Italy. Japan even suspected that freedom, their lack of other close relationships, was what drew them together right now. They were willing to put up with each other for over two weeks already, and why? To forget the changes they were suffering from and never have a free moment to think between the petty arguments and screaming. Surely they would have killed each other long before then if they did not feel, at least in a very deep part of themselves, that being screamed at was better than being alone.

Japan sighed and knocked on one of the basement doors. He could do nothing now. The damage had been done and he could only hope that South Italy and Germany could find a way to repair it, and that Spain and Italy's visit would not make it worse. "Romano-kun, I know you are in there. Please come out. We have a few things to discuss before you meet your brother and Spain."

* * *

AN: I finally wrote out this chapter! It took so long...I had to type it bit by bit on my friends' computers. And I finally have some plot forming, instead of just little snippets of relationship changes. I feel so proud...

To everyone who has reviewed: THANK YOU! I wouldn't have written anything this summer if not for knowing that some people out there were waiting. Thank you for your support and this chapter is dedicated to all of you!

On a content note...I feel I didn't get Japan quite right. He's being overly tactful and talkative in this chapter but it was necessary.


	6. Chapter 5: Two Weeks and One Day Part II

AN:I am really sorry that this is so late. Life has been shitty and I haven't had the drive or time to write. Hopefully that will change soon. I've had half of this written since September too...sometimes things just don't work out. Life surprises you and it sucks ass.

I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

Chapter 5: Two Weeks and One Day: Part II

"Romano-kun, I know you are in there. Please come out. We have a few things to discuss before you meet your brother and Spain."

Romano groaned and pulled his knees closer to his chest. "Go away!" he mumbled, pouting, "I don't want to see them."

Japan sighed softly and took a step back. The southern half of Italy was always more difficult to read but Japan knew that he needed to be direct if he wanted Romano to ever leave the basement room. Japan prayed silently that Romano would somehow see the truth and listen. Ignoring his normal methods, Japan clearly stated, "They know you are here. If you don't come up they will try and find you."

The Italian sighed and loosened his hold on his legs. They fell off the box and onto the floor. "Tell them I'm sick," he mumbled out. Japan had to strain to hear him.

"Germany-san has already done that," Japan responded. He slowly opened the door and it swung wide. Romano could barely be made out in the dark storage room, sitting on top of a large box. "Please come speak to them, if only for a few minutes. Your brother is worried."

Romano grumbled as he dragged himself to the door. Japan noticed a faint red ringed his eyes when he walked into the light. The Italian stood before him for a moment before swiping vigorously at his nose and muttered, "Fine, I'll come. But only to make that baby shut up." He pushed past Japan and walked down the hall.

"Please remember that Germany-san told the guests that you are sick, so feigning a headache may make things easier."

"Make what easier?"

"Excusing yourself from the room...if you so need. I don't mean to presume that you-"

"I can take care of myself!" roared Romano as he wheeled around. He glared darkly at Japan, but his red-rimmed eyes ruined his attempt at intimidation . "I'm not a whiny baby like my brother!"

Japan put his hands up and calmly said, "I did not mean to imply that you are, Romano-kun. Please, I just wish to help make this meeting easier for everyone."

"It would be easier if they had just stayed away," Romano mumbled as he dragged himself up the stairs. Japan couldn't agree more.

* * *

"-and America gave us a personal tour! It was really interesting, but I didn't want to get in the water. He said something about shark attacks and I didn't want to see any of those! But then he led us to this place where they made great mango smoothies-we must have had three each that day-and then for dinner that night we went further west and-" North Italy had pulled himself together from crying over his brother only moments ago and instantly started running his mouth. He energetically retold the stories of Spain's and his adventures for the past month, but Germany had already tuned him out by the time he mentioned the city of Chicago. That was when Spain had wrapped his arm around the other Mediterranean nation's waist.

Italy kept telling his story as the German looked down into his empty coffee cup. If only it was a can of beer instead...Prussia had always kept the house alcohol reserves full. Even if he had bought all the booze with money stolen from Germany the man still missed it. He missed his brother. He missed when it was his arm that rested on the couch behind the Italian (never touching though, for that would have been too far for the German nation).

Germany's mind drifted further as Italy continued talking (he mentioned something about an angry Mexico and Guatemala). Did Prussia visit Spain and Italy during the past few weeks? Probably, he was best friends with the Spaniard. Prussia might even have moved into Spain's house while the pair was vacationing. The thought caused an angry heat to build in Germany's chest. Spain might have taken away the two people important to Germany.

_"What on Earth am I doing?_" the blond man thought as he shook his head to rid it of his jealous thoughts. He disguised it as a nod. Italy smiled at him and continued speaking. "_It's not Spain's fault. It is childish of me to act like he has been planning to take them all away. They are not mine. They were never mine. It was their choice to leave_." Another pang of emotion made Germany frown. He prided himself on his emotional control. There was no need to let such things ruin his concentration and behavior.

Italy interrupted his own story by screaming happily and jumping towards the hallway. Germany swiveled in place to see what the commotion was. He spotted South Italy, who barely had time to brace himself before his brother tackled him into a tight hug. "Romano! I haven't seen you in forever! Did you miss me?" the attacker excitedly asked. Romano's legs couldn't hold against North Italy and the pair fell back into the hallway with twin 'yelp's.

"I didn't miss you! Now get off!"

"Waah, fratello's so mean. But I know you missed me!" Romano struggled against the hold but North Italy had a surprisingly tight grip. "I know you missed me!" Italy repeated in a sing-song voice, smiling despite his brother's violent attempts to free himself. He tightened his hold and nuzzled his face into his sputtering brother's chest.

Romano managed to work an arm free and smirked at his success. He grabbed his brother's shoulder and tried to push him off, but a larger, tanner hand latched onto his wrist. The Italian froze as his eyes slowly drifted up the arm to lock with achingly familiar green eyes. "Lovi, what's wrong?" asked Spain, his voice surprisingly soft, "Germany said you were sick."

The Italian opened his mouth to respond but his throat suddenly went dry. His mind went blank as he froze, mouth still open in surprise. There were hundreds of things Romano wanted to say to Spain, hundreds of things he had pictured himself screaming, accusing him of, even physically throwing at the man. Yet words failed him as he stared into the other's face, into his earnest, honest eyes. He had expected him to look...meaner. Less like the Spain he knew for centuries. Romano had wanted him to look different, colder even, as if he had grown twisted by his choice between the brothers. Yet he was still Spain. He was still the innocent, sweet, caring Antonio that Romano had known. What was he supposed to say to the man that raised him, the man that cared for him, and the same man that ripped his heart out with a cheerful smile?

"Fratello?" asked North Italy, looking unsure. He leaned back and put a hand on Romano's forehead. "You don't look so good...you feel pretty warm too. Oh no! You're getting a fever!"

Romano pulled back and yanked his hand free of Spain's grasp. He stood and glared down at his brother, then said, "I'm fine, stupid. I was just...uh...sitting by the heater downstairs."

"Why would you do that, Lovi?" asked Spain as he stepped closer to Romano and placed a hand on his forehead. Romano flinched and took a step back. He didn't look up at Spain's face. The older nation tried to make him look up but Romano stepped back again and stared at the floor. "Lovi, look at me." Romano did not move. "Please?"

"Shut up and leave me alone, stupid bastard," Romano finally muttered before he pulled away and sat on the couch beside Germany. His face blazed red as he brought his legs up and wrapped his arms tightly around them. North Italy walked over and pushed his way onto the couch between Romano and Germany. The blond nation moved as far to the edge of the couch as he could. Italy ignored him and whined something inane but his brother ignored him.

"Romanooooo," Italy continued to whine as he pulled on Romano's sleeve. His brother refused to look at his pouting face. "Ro-ma-noooo. Why won't you look at me? Don't you like me? I haven't seen you in so long! I have so much to tell you about! Oh! America gave me a few games he said you would like, I can go get them! Then we can play and you will talk to me, right?" A hopeful look passed over Italy's face but fell when his brother refused to even look at him. Italy paused for a moment but then grinned and tried to change the subject. He pulled a few postcards out of his pocket and said, "Hey, fratello, look at this! I got this one when we stopped in New York and America showed up the Empire State Building! Then I got this one down in Cancun when we went to visit-"

Germany finally took pity on the nation and said, "Italy, your brother needs his rest. Perhaps you could make him an early dinner?" The excitable Italian smiled and nodded quickly.

"I would love to! Fratello, I'll make you the best pasta ever! A full stomach always puts you in a better mood," North Italy teased as he poked his brother in the stomach. Romano brushed him off with a scowl. Italy ignored him and dropped his tourist postcards on the table. He then skipped off straight to the kitchen, humming cheerfully, and Japan silently followed him. Romano muttered something about being bipolar and stood up.

Spain stood with him and followed Romano to the stairs. "Roma, where are you going? Italy's going to make you dinner. He'll be so unhappy if you leave first." He reached out and placed his hand on Romano's shoulder just as he started to climb the stairs. "Won't you stay and eat what your brother makes for you?"

The small man flinched back and spun around on the second step. He glared straight at Spain, standing eye level, and angrily shouted, "Leave me alone! I hate you!"

"R-Roma, why...what's wrong with-?"

"Go back home! No one wants you here!" With that Romano pivoted and ran up the stairs and out of sight in record time. Spain stood there, staring after him without a word, his face twisted in confusion. Why had Romano run away from him? His little Roma, who he had always protected and taken care of when he was sick...why would he run now? Wouldn't he want Spain to help take care of him like he always had? Why wouldn't he want his big brother's help? Spain didn't know. Nothing had changed since he had last seen Romano...nothing had changed but...

Romano's raised voice had been heard from the kitchen. Italy looked back into the living room but Japan called him back. "Your brother is just tired," he reasoned, "He only says such things out of exhaustion." The Italian smiled and nodded before returning to his work, convinced that a good meal would make his brother feel better. He didn't notice the way Spain's back tensed as he stared up the staircase, or the way Germany ignored everything and stared at the black television.

Germany was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and shoved forcefully back into the couch. He looked up in surprise at Spain, who was leaning over him with a very serious face. "...Spain?"

"What is wrong with my Roma?" the tanned nation asked with a harsh edge. Germany suppressed a shiver and stared in confusion. Had that almost sounded like a _threat?_ Spain's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he continued, "He wouldn't say that anymore. What have you done to him?"

* * *

AN: This is only half as long as I had envisioned, but I feel it would be rude to keep you waiting more (if any of you are, and I hope you are!). And Dark!Spain...I love him. I can't help it.


	7. Chapter 6: A Long Night

AN: To clear up a few things people have asked in the reviews...this is not a Spamano fic. It contains one-sided Spamano and one-sided Gerita. Second: I love writing angst, it helps to get my negative feelings out. It's a great stress reliever! So expect angst and feels. Third: please don't hold out for a lemon to appear. This story will focus more on emotional connections than physical ones.

Random Fact: The average adult male height in Germany in 2009 was 1.78 m (5 ft 10 in). It's the same in Spain, but the last measurement was in 2001.

Chapter 6: A Long Night with Dampened Spirits

_"What is wrong with my Roma?"_

Germany sat at the empty kitchen table and slowly took a drink from a bottle of warm, dark beer. The kitchen, along with the entire house, was pitch black except for a small circle illuminated by a lone light bulb burning over the stove. Silence reigned. Not even a muffled yawn reached Germany's ears. He might as well have been alone in the house, but he knew four men were sleeping upstairs. The German nation would have gone up and attempted to sleep as well but he knew that he would find no rest.

A deep chuckle suprised Germany, finally breaking the silence. He was more surprised to find the joyless sound had come from his own throat. "Just means I haven't had enough yet," the man muttered as he took his empty beer bottle to the sink. He placed it on the counter by three other empty bottles before returning to the table and popping open another one. Germany drank, his swallowing the only sound in the quiet house. His mind easily drifted back to the events earlier that day. They were all he had thought about for the last two lonely hours.

* * *

"What is wrong with my Roma?" Spain asked with a harsh edge as his hand tightened on Germany's shoulder. The blond nation suppressed a shiver and stared at the other man in confusion. Had that sounded like a _threat_? Spain's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he continued, "He wouldn't say that anymore. What have you done to him?"

"I did not do anything to him," said a confused Germany as he pulled to the side, out of Spain's grasp. He stood and smoothed out the rumpled shoulder of his shirt.

Spain glared at the man as he slowly stood to his full height. Germany dropped his hands and stared back in surprise. "Do not lie to me, _Alemania_. I know Romano. There is something wrong with him." He had spoken softly, but with an intensity which Germany found more disturbing than the harsh tone from before. He noted that Spain's eyes occasionally darted over to the kitchen and his voice dropped even lower. "Why is he here?"

Germany shook himself inwardly and straightened his back. It was only Spain. He was probably only worried about Romano's health and had odd ways of showing it. He looked the tanner man straight in the eye and stated, "He is here because his doctor said that someone needed to look after him. Japan offered, but his home is too far for Romano to stay in close contact with his country. He needed to stay close so I offered him a room." Spain's eyes narrowed suspiciously again.

"He does not like you. Even I know that," said Spain as he smiled, but the gesture did not reach his darkened eyes. "Lovi should have known that I would have been more than happy to return home and take care of him. Feli too, of course. So why would he stay with you?" A hint of venom coated Spain's last word.

The German crossed his arms. He would not allow Spain's words to bother him. "_Romano _chose to stay here. I did not make him stay in the same way I did not make him leave." Spain waved his hand, as if pushing aside Germany's answer. His smile widened. It finally looked forced and fake.

"That tells me nothing, Alemania. How long has he been staying here?"

"A few weeks. Why don't you go ask him?"

"If he is as sick as you say, then I should not interrupt his rest. My Roma gets violent if people interrupt his siestas. Shouldn't you know that if you were looking after him?"

"I am not 'looking after him'. I allowed him to stay because he needed to, and I make sure he eats and rests appropriately."

"Why?"

Germany was about to respond, then stopped. Spain had asked the same question that Germany had been asking himself for the past two weeks. He still did not have an answer. Spain frowned as he stared at Germany, clearly growing impatient. He broke the heavy silence and stated, "Alemania, I will not ask again. Why is Roma here? Why did he not call Feli or myself?" His voice was a bit softer, his eyes had darted over to the kitchen again. Germany realized that Spain was trying his best to reign in his anger to not alarm North Italy. Yet Germany did not respond. He could not. He had no idea how to answer.

Spain watched him a bit longer before nodding absently. He turned and slowly walked up the stairs. "I will speak with Roma if he is still awake. Feliciano and I will be bringing him with us when we leave tomorrow."

"Isn't that his choice to make?" asked Germany, stunned at the forwardness of it.

"Roma will listen to me, once he calms down. He always does. That will never change," said Spain confidently, almost playfully. He looked over his shoulder at Germany. "Both the Italies will leave with me tomorrow." A dangerous fire had lit in his eyes. Germany dared not to contradict him. He just watched wordlessly as the Spaniard climbed the stairs and walked out of sight.

A door quietly opened and closed on the second floor. The soft murmurs of Japan drifted in from the kitchen, interrupted occasionally by the melodic laughing of North Italy. Despite the sounds and the wonderful smells filling his house, an emptiness had clawed its way into Germany's chest. He might have four other people in his usually empty house but he had never felt so alone.

The German quickly grabbed his jacket and a set of keys. He walked through the kitchen-ignoring the questions of a particular Italian-and went through another door into his garage. Within moments Germany had started a car and was just starting to back it out onto the driveway when North Italy ran out to meet him. The man knocked on the driver's side window. Germany hesitated but rolled it down. "What do you need, Norditalien?"

"Could you get some wine? There isn't any, and I think Romano likes his pasta with..." started Italy, but he trailed off in confusion and looked directly at Germany. His eyes were wide open, which startled the other man. "What did you call me? Nordeetal...?"

"It's...nothing, Italy," Germany corrected himself as he looked down at the steering wheel. He hadn't realized that he had called him 'North Italy'. He couldn't remember when he started thinking that way, instead of just calling him 'Italy'. No wonder the brunette was confused. Germany forced his mind away from those thoughts and said, "I will get some wine." _And probably twenty packs of beer. _"What kind?"

Italy smiled, content with Germany's evasive answer, eyes closed again as he rattled off the name of some Italian wine. Germany barely heard him, distracted by his own thoughts again. He nodded, which appeased the other man and he practically skipped back inside, humming happily. The blond dragged his eyes away and willed the image of the happy young man to disappear.

The car sped out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood. It soon pulled onto the highway and Germany pressed hard on the gas pedal. He was going to get in a nice, long, far-over-the-speed-limit drive before he stopped at a store. Perhaps the distraction would be enough to make the sick feeling in his chest go away.

Forty minutes later Germany was back in his driveway and walked into his house through the garage door. The moment he opened the door a soothing, familiar scent of baking pasta and chicken swept over him. North Italy ran into the room to meet him. "Germanyyyy! Did you bring the wine?"

"Right here," said the German softly as he held out a paper bag. Italy took it with a happy noise and placed it in the back of the fridge.

With a wide gesture at the oven North Italy told him, "Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. I thought about making spaghetti but fratello seemed to be in a really bad mood...which means he'll go take a nap until he feels better! So I decided to bake something instead, so it will be ready when he wakes up." Italy stared up at the German with a wide smile. Nothing happened for a moment and Germany suddenly was struck by both a similarity and a difference between the Italian brothers. North Italy looked for approval in everything, even before he was done. South Italy wanted people's approval too, but he did not want to ask for it, and he only lingered around hoping that people would finally notice what he did. He didn't expect the instant praise that his brother was given so easily. The praise that North Italy expected at that very moment, that praise that Germany had given him so easily in the past. "Ve...is Germany alright? You look like you're angry about something."

Germany chuckled softly and placed a hand on top of Veneziano's head. The familiarity of the movement surprised him. Germany ruffled the man's hair a bit, the way he used to before...everything. "I'm not angry, just thinking," he finally explained, then swiftly changed the subject. "I hope your brother is done with his nap when the food is ready. I don't want to risk bodily harm trying to waking him."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. Antonio is upstairs taking a siesta with Lovino, and if fratello doesn't wake up from the smell then Antonio will do it! He's got a lot of experience waking him up," said Italy happily as he pulled away from the German's touch. He walked over to the oven and checked on the food. Germany stood there for a moment with his hand in the air feeling foolish, then he lowered his hand.

Germany hesitated a moment before he asked, "And you aren't jealous?"

"What? Me? No, Antonio said that all three of us can have a long siesta tomorrow when we get home. I've got a giant bed too so we can all fit! We could all fit on the bed upstairs, but it would be a tight squeeze. Maybe we could sleep there tonight!" rambled the Italian as he spun around the kitchen gathering plates and glasses and silverware. Germany caught a few plates before they shattered on the floor. Italy suddenly stopped and looked Germany in the eye. "Fratello did miss me, didn't he? He didn't seem very happy to see me earlier." The earnest, sad expression on the young man's face pulled at the normally stoic man's heart.

"I...your brother did miss you, I'm sure," said the German hesitantly. He knew how Romano had hoped that Italy and Spain would never visit, but he could not tell the younger brother that, especially when it made the man smile widely again.

"I knew it! And you two get along so well, it makes me happy, ve! I was so worried that my brother and my best friend didn't get along, but you two seem to have worked it out. I think that surprised both of us!" Italy rambled on again as he set five places at the table. He turned to go into the living room. "Toni seemed a little more surprised than I did though."

"...is that right."

"Yes it is! But I always hoped you two would get along better. And now fratello doesn't hate you anymore! Well, I don't think he does."

"It's quite an accomplishment," muttered Germany, feeling more awkward by the second. Maybe there was a rock somewhere in his backyard that he could crawl under and hide until everyone left tomorrow.

"I know!" chirped North Italy as he walked off into the living room. A moment later he peeked his head back into the kitchen. "Thanks for looking after my brother. I know he can get mean when he's sick. So I feel lucky to have a good friend like you to help out, Germany." The Italian smiled once more before leaving.

Forget about the rock. Germany wanted to go dig a hole. Maybe he could dig it deep enough that no one could seem him at the bottom, where he would drinking all of the beer he had stashed in his car. It would have a better outcome than this debacle.

* * *

Dinner had been an awkward affair for everyone except Italy and Spain. The pair had taken seats on both sides of Romano while Germany and Japan had to sit on the opposite side and watch. Romano had actually looked sick and the other Mediterranean countries had spent the whole dinner trying to make him eat, talk, or take his temperature. Of course that just led to an angry Romano screaming at everyone and stomping out of the room, followed by the worried Spain and North Italy. Germany and Japan were forced to try to eat alone when all they could focus on was the loud arguing in the next room.

The two Italies soon went upstairs. Romano tried to calm down while his brother tried to cheer him up. Neither was very successful. After that Spain was the only one to return to dinner and all he did was pick at his food and stare off into space. What concerned Germany was that Spain quickly drank his wine, then finished the drinks of the two absent nations. A red flush formed on Spain's face but he still didn't speak.

Germany had excused himself from the table and started to clean the dishes. Japan followed.

The next two hours were a bit of a haze in Germany's mind. He knew that Spain had left to go join the Italies upstairs in North Italy's old bedroom and Japan had taken the guest room. At some point Germany must have brought in the beer from his car. The nineteen bottles sitting in front of his fridge proved that.

Germany took a sixth bottle out of the pack and sat down at the table. He tilted the bottle toward him and started at the liquid, but did not drink. "What the hell am I doing?" he finally asked himself.

"That's a good question." Germany jumped and looked up. In the kitchen doorway stood Romano. A white blanket was draped over his head and bundled up in his crossed arms. That blanket was the only reason Germany could make him out in the dark room. A minute later Romano asked, "What the hell are you doing, letting those idiots stay here?"

"I let you stay, didn't I?"

"Hey. Shut up," Romano muttered with a yawn, then moved over to the table. He sat across from Germany and pulled the blanket closer. Now that he was in the light Germany was able to make out the man's pale skin and exhausted eyes, rimmed with gray.

"You actually look sick," said Germany as he sat up, studying the other man's face. Romano frowned in annoyance and kicked the table. "Stop that. Was it from something you ate?"

The Italian shook his head. "It's because of those idiots. If they hadn't come I wouldn't be sick."

"You mean you worried yourself sick."

"I did not! They're just contagious idiots!"

"Neither of them are sick."

"Well...fuck you, potato bastard." Romano started when Germany began to chuckle. "What the hell?! That wasn't funny!"

"No, I suppose it's not. You probably just have a cold," replied Germany as he forced his laughter under control. He walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled down a few bottles. He brought them over to the stove light to read the labels and poured out three different pills. Germany vaguely thought that if he could read and dispense medicine properly, then he hadn't had nearly enough alcohol yet. The chuckle returned as he walked back to the table and placed the pills in front of Romano. "Take those. They should help you recover faster." Romano stared down at the pills suspiciously. Germany sighed and said, "I did not poison them, if that is what you are worried about."

Romano looked up at him with an annoyed glare. "It's not," he finally said, "You're just drunk. How the hell am I supposed to believe that you gave me the right medication when drunk? I'll probably get a heart attack or turn blue or something!"

"Trust me, I'm not drunk," muttered the German as he took a sip of his lukewarm beer. A small smile played on his lips as the liquid spread warmth through his chest. "You would be able to tell if I was."

Romano still looked unconvinced and asked, "What about some water?"

"You're an adult. You can pour your own water." The Italian glared at him. "What? I had thought you had grown up already. Or was I mistaken?"

A shout of annoyance escaped Romano as he leaned forward and swiped Germany's beer. In one swift movement he swallowed the pills and washed them down with a hearty dose of alcohol. Germany stared blankly for a moment before his brain actually registered what he saw. He reached for the beer bottle but Romano held it out of his reach. "Don't you know not to mix drugs and alcohol?"

"I'm a fucking nation. I'll survive," the Italian grumbled angrily as he took another drink of the beer, then wrinkled his nose and almost gagged in disgust. He put the bottle back on the table and Germany snatched it up. "How the hell do you drink that crap?"

"It's an acquired taste."

"It's fucking awful," Romano retorted as he dropped the blanket and walked to the fridge. He had to push the beer away from the door before he opened the fridge and pulled out the half empty bottle of wine. He studied the label before he closed the door and walked back. "At least Italy remembered to bring something decent this time."

"I bought that," Germany reminded him as he drank more beer, anxious to feel that same warmth from before.

"Oh? Your taste isn't as bad as I thought then," said the Italian as he sat across from Germany again. He gently rolled the wine bottle on its heel. A moment later Romano caught himself and muttered, "Bastard." Germany just shook his head at that. Romano's curses used to bother him, but he had learned to ignore them over the past two weeks. That, and the angry Italian swore less and less as time went on, until his brother and Spain had arrived. That had made him start cursing like crazy. Germany wondered why, then realized he already knew the answer. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"Hm? What?"

"Mio Dio, how much have you had to drink? _Spain_ said that we're all leaving tomorrow," explained Romano. He practically spat out the other nation's name as he popped open the wine bottle. Without a care for formality Romano took a long swig of the drink straight out of the glass.

Germany watched silently as Romano easily drank half the remaining wine. "You'll pay for that tomorrow."

"So will you. And maybe they'll leave me alone then."

"No they won't."

Romano sighed and put the wine bottle down on the table. "No, they really won't," he affirmed softly. The man pulled the white blanket around himself again and leaned back in the chair. He stared pensively into the nearly empty glass of wine. Germany stared at Romano, studying his expression. The smaller man still looked sick and tired. His shoulders sagged under the barest weight of the blanket and the one hand placed on the table was shaking slightly.

"It hurts to see them, doesn't it?" asked Germany suddenly. Romano's head shot up and he gaped at Germany in surprise. The man's forwardness surprised himself just as much. Yet Germany kept his gaze steady, searching Romano's eyes for an answer.

The Italian soon dropped his eyes. He quietly said, "Of course it does." Germany nodded and finished off his beer before rising to fetch another one. Romano watched him silently until he sat down again. "How many of those have you had?"

"I think this is the sixth. Or seventh. I'm not counting," admitted the blond as he started to sip at his new bottle. He noticed that Romano had put the temporary cap back on the wine bottle. "Are you done with that?"

South Italy nodded and started to slowly spin the bottle on its heel again. His eyes looked a little bit glazed. "I've had enough. It's starting to hit me."

"You're surprisingly...tolerant when you drink."

"You're surprisingly tolerable when I drink," Romano replied with a snort. Germany couldn't tell if it was annoyance or amusement. The pair sat together in silence for a while. Romano finally said, "You know I'm only doing this because I hate them right now and so do you. It's not that I like you or anything. I don't. I don't like you at all. You're a stupid, smelly, muscle-headed potato bastard."

"And you're a rude and lazy Italian stereotype who has taken over my couch," retaliated Germany without malice. Romano nodded his agreement and Germany couldn't help his grin. The Italian was actually quite sociable when he was borderline drunk.

"Good. Because I don't like you."

"I don't like you either."

"Good."

"Good. Are you going to finish that wine or can I put it away?"

"I think I'll finish it. We should go watch tv."

"What?"

"Tv. In your living room. Or the kitchen. We could move the tv into the kitchen."

"We're too drunk to move it."

"Damn," muttered Romano as he leaned forward onto the table. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "We should still go watch it."

"If you really want to." Germany stood and grabbed a four pack of beer. The Italian didn't move from his seat. "Are you coming?" Romano nodded but still did not move. With a sigh Germany hooked a hand under the smaller man's shoulder and pulled him out of the seat. Romano picked up the wine bottle and held tightly to Germany's arm as they walked into the other room. He stumbled a bit but managed to stay upright until they reached the living room. The Italian quickly dropped onto the couch and took up half of it. Germany sat beside him and asked, "You don't drink a lot, do you?"

"Never. People who drink are stupid."

"But I thought you drank wine with most of your meals?"

"That's different. What I do is drink, not _drink_," said Romano expressively, as if it explained everything. Germany merely nodded and the Italian seemed appeased. He fumbled around with the remote and turned on the television. The bland voice of a news anchor echoed through the room for a moment before Romano started flipping channels. "Do you always watch those stupid news programs?"

"It's important to keep up to date with things. You never know what could happen." Romano turned and glared at Germany. He quickly pulled one of the beers out of the pack and pushed it into Germany's face. The blond pulled the waving bottle out of the other man's grasp. "What's that for?"

"You're too responsible! Drink, dammit!" The German chuckled and popped open the bottle. He sipped it as Romano stared at him with a frown. With a small sniff the man looked back at the television and said, "You're stupid."

"And you are stubborn," replied Germany as he set the drink back down on the table.

"Damn straight."

Germany couldn't help but laugh at that. Romano hissed out something in Italian but the larger man ignored him and leaned back into the couch. He grinned and pulled part of Romano's large blanket over himself. "Perhaps we should drink more often," he said when the Italian man stopped talking. The man frowned and shook his head.

"Only when those two are around."

Germany sighed and replied, "They're not on vacation now. They're always going to be around."

Romano's frown deepened and he leaned back against the couch beside Germany. He pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I wish Toni had never come back," the man whispered. Germany turned to look at him. Romano's eyes looked glassy as a red glow spread across his cheeks. Had he realized what he had called Spain? Or was it an old reflex? Then again, Spain always called Romano by his human name.

"Why does he call you L-...what he calls you?" asked Germany. He almost used Romano's human name but caught himself.

A hollow laugh echoed from Romano's throat. "He always called me that," Romano explained in a strained voice as his words started to run together. Fortunately Germany was fluent in the language of Drunk, thanks to a particular Prussian. "Like you'd call a pet. He's always done it, from when I was small. He practically raised me, you know. I'm like...I'm only a kid to him."

Germany's brows furrowed as he took a heavy drink of beer. "Why does he not see your brother that way?"

"I don't know. Because he's perfect. Because Antonio always wanted him instead of me. Because he's perfect. He can clean, and everyone likes him, and he can always do everything right-"

"...we're still talking about the same person, aren't we?"

"A-and he looks better than me. And he's nice. And-" Germany placed a hand over Romano's mouth to silence him. The Italian looked up in confusion, his drunken blush darkening.

"I know your brother. He's lazy..." started Germany clearly, but then lost his train of thought. Was he comfortable with telling anyone how he felt about North Italy? Even if it was all bad? He kept Romano's mouth covered but he stared down into his beer bottle instead of looking at the other man. Another drink gave him back his voice. "He's lazy, flighty, and frankly couldn't focus on his work to save his life." To hell with restraint. Germany chugged the rest of the beer and popped open another bottle.

Romano pushed Germany's hand aside and said, "But he's still nicer."

"He's stupid. You've said that before."

"But people like him more."

"He's oblivious to other people's feelings."

"But Toni likes him more."

"Spain's an oblivious idiot too."

Romano turned and looked at Germany. He stared for a few moments, concentrating hard. "That makes them perfect for each other though," he finally said. His voice cracked a bit.

Germany turned and stared back. He asked the Italian, "Would you really be happy with someone as blindly happy and stupidly spacey as Spain?"

"I...would you really be happy with someone like Veze...Veneziano?"

"No," stated the German as confidently as he could manage. He took another drink of his beer.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, then, I suppose that makes two of us." The two sat in sad but comfortable silence. Germany turned off the television and picked up the wine bottle. Romano gave him a questioning look.

"Finish it off," the German explained, "You'll feel better." Romano seemed as if he would resist, but then his shoulders slumped and he popped open the bottle. The remaining wine was gone in moments. "Any better yet?"

"No. It hasn't kicked in yet, bastard," muttered Romano as he leaned back against the couch. He looked up at the ceiling. "I don't want to go with them tomorrow."

A sympathetic look formed on Germany's face. At this point he thought he probably had a drunken flush as well. "They'll make you go, you know that."

"I do know," Romano said with a sigh. He closed his eyes and loosened his hold on the blanket. It fell down into his lap. "It sucks."

"That it does," agreed Germany. His eyes were trained onto the drunk Italian. It almost seemed as if the other would fall asleep at any moment.

"M'tired," muttered the Italian as he smothered another yawn, "Talking about idiots stresses me out. That makes me tired." He yawned again and forced his eyes open to look around for a pillow. Upon finding none he pulled Germany's arm into his lap and wrapped his arms around it.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Shut up. Sleepy. Don't care." Romano scooted closer and rested his head on Germany's shoulder and closed his eyes again. His face visibly relaxed as his breath started to slow.

"Hey, I'm not a pillow," said Germany as he tried to gently pull his arm free. Romano tightened his grip even as his head leaned onto him more. Before Germany could stop him the man had fallen asleep. A tense breath left him as Germany realized that he was effectively trapped. His only escape would be to wake the slumbering Italian, which, even when drunk, was probably bad for his health. It didn't help that he was tired as well, and the soft breathing by his ear was slowly lulling him off. Before Germany realized it he had slid down onto the arm of the couch, Romano pulled down with him, as both fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

AN: Once again, drunk characters are fun to write.


End file.
